That Which Must Be Forgot
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. AU. Draco's got more than a few secrets stored inside his head, but there's one he must keep above all others. (Draco has DID in this story, warnings for various things inside.)
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Notes: If you have noticed I have a terrible habit of starting things and not updating them for months...you would be correct. Although with that said, this has been percolating in the back of my mind for a very long time, I just never knew how to start it. I think I do now. Prompted by a submission on hiddenhogwarts, regarding Draco having DID and going through ritual abuse at the hands of the Death Eaters. _

_So with that in mind, __**warning**__ for child abuse, torture, rape, self harm, eating disorders, and suicidal ideation throughout this story. I won't go over every gory detail, not in the slightest, but there will definitely be triggering situations and themes throughout this whole story. Also, naturally, this story is extremely AU. So...onward. (The Latin in beginning is taken from The Hunchback of Notre Dame's "Hellfire.")_

_Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti _  
_Beatae Mariae semper Virgini _  
_Beato Michaeli archangelo _  
_Sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis _

Church bells clanged and clattered above Malfoy's head, making him jump. His father cuffed him swiftly about the head before the tumultuous crowd of students and parents alike could see.

"Behave," Lucius Malfoy murmured, his face a smooth mask. Malfoy nodded, doing his best to maintain his own serene expression. He would have been fine, if not for the church bells. Dolohov liked the church bells. You wouldn't think a pureblood wizard would have appreciated anything muggle, but religion apparently...

But the thought escaped before he could come to any more conclusions about Dolohov, and instead, his father pushed him roughly forward.

"Remember to write," Narcissa said with a sickly smile. Her hands shook in their thin white gloves. The picture of a doting mother, but the dust on the shelves spoke volumes.

"Of course, Mother," Malfoy replied, as deferentially as he dared. He could feel his father's eyes on him, warning him. In retrospect, it should have been obvious what would happen. But somehow, he hadn't dared think his father would be so daring in a crowd of people-

The torture curse hit him in a wave of pain and he doubled over his cart for a minute, vision blurring. The eagle owl cozily ensconced in his cage looked at him with disdain and hooted.

"Straighten up, Draco," his mother hissed in an undertone. "You're shaming the family name."

"Sorry, Mother," he gritted out through clenched teeth before surrendering to the switch with relief. It was Drake who slipped out next, angry and trying not to show it. He pushed his cart closer and got onto the train, all belongings intact, with a minimum of fuss. He knew he should wave at his erstwhile parents, but he didn't give a damn about them, and punishment would be far off, if it even came.

So instead he found an empty compartment and slouched down in it. There. Peace at last, even if only until his father's lackeys found him. Crabbe and Goyle weren't very bright, but they certainly could understand "stick by Draco," especially when it was burnt and beaten into them. Crabbe still had the scars down his back from the fireplace poker, and Goyle wasn't much better.

"Draco!" It was Pansy who found him first, wearing the same sickly smile as his mother. He scowled at her, which she somehow took as permission to flounce in and sit down across from him.

"Don't you have something else to do? Like fall in a lake?" he asked her with faux sincerity dripping from his voice.

"Oh, it's _you_," Pansy frowned. She knew that he was different, that he contained more, even if she didn't know the specifics. Drake had never made his dislike of her a secret. "I can't even care right now. We're going to Hogwarts!" Her eyes shone, and despite himself, Drake found himself reluctantly smiling back.

"Bet you're in Hufflepuff," he snarked, but his heart wasn't in it, and she could tell, only turning up her nose at him before rummaging around in her bag for the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_.

Over the next few hours, others trickled in. Crabbe and Goyle, with only a few noncommittal grunts. Theo Nott, who had a perpetual tic in his left eyebrow that drove Drake mad. Daphne Greengrass, who'd already changed into her robes _and_ altered them. Somehow Drake didn't think that she was going to get away with a hemline at least four inches above regulation, but he wasn't arguing with her. She had a nasty way around hexes already, first year or not.

"Did you hear," Daphne began with a rather important air. "Harry Potter's on the train."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Drake sneered. "He's a first year, too, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, but," Daphne stopped when she saw the laughter in his eyes. "One would _think_ that the heir to the Malfoy name would want to cultivate such an important connection," she finally settled on. Drake shrugged. He'd leave networking to Malfoy. He didn't give a shit. He was there to protect the system, not make friends and 'cultivate connections.'

When the train finally pulled to a stop, Drake was one of the first people off it. So was Harry Potter, he believed. The scruffy-haired boy across the way had brushed his fringe off his forehead, and sure enough, the lightning scar was there, traced in pain across pale, clammy skin.

_So he's the boy who saved us all,_ Drake thought bitterly, examining him. He looked a mess, in robes that dwarfed him and round-framed spectacles mended with tape. A very red-haired boy who could only be a Weasley tagged along at his heels. Granted, there was a particular spark in Potter's bottle-green eyes that suggested there was more to him than met the eye.

"First Years! First Years, come with me!" an enormous, shaggy-haired man shouted, in an accent that made Drake's head feel like it was splitting. Never mind the residual nerve jitters from their father's parting present.

_I've got this,_ Malfoy suggested inside and Drake gladly let himself fall back inside. There was nothing to protect from out here, save perhaps being dunked in the lake by an over-enthusiastic fellow first year.

Malfoy followed docilely in the crowd, keeping his face smooth and his shoulders relaxed. His father would be proud. The journey was bumpy, and his stomach sloshed around, making him feel sick. He could see Potter in the next boat, gazing up at the castle with a rather awestruck expression. It was rather stunning, Malfoy supposed, in a critical sort of way. He'd seen Hogwarts since he could talk. Granted, not from this perspective, the burgeoning student in fresh black robes and uncertainty.

The giant man led them up to the front doors, where Professor McGonagall waited. _Not_ someone Malfoy wanted to cross. He'd not dealt with her before, but he'd heard enough from his family. She _looked_ strict.

By some luck, the Boy Who Lived was standing right next to him, along with the Weasley and a very round-faced boy clutching a fat toad. _Time to make an impression,_ Malfoy thought and turned.

"You're Potter, aren't you? Harry Potter?" he said. The boy jumped a bit, hastening around and staring at him with a very owl-like expression. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

The red-headed boy snickered, and Malfoy glared at him, right before Harry's elbow sank into the Weasley's side. Interesting.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Malfoy said coolly. "Can tell who you are, I bet. You're a Weasley."

"Ron Weasley," the redhead sneered, an expression that went badly with the freckles spattered across his face.

"Be nice, Ron," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Erm, thanks. Draco." He sounded out Malfoy's name like it was utterly foreign, but Malfoy supposed it was something.

A nod went a long way, and it wasn't long before the first years were jostling into a ragged line after hearing McGonagall's speech about Houses. Lucius and Narcissa hadn't told their son how precisely one was Sorted, something about preserving the mystery, so Malfoy was as surprised as anyone else to see a raggedy old hat perched on a stool.

_All we have to do is try on a hat?_ Drake snorted inside. _What do we have to do to go to class? Sweep?_

_Should Draco do this?_ Malfoy asked, tentative. _I mean...he's...well, you know._

_Nah, you do it,_ Drake advised. _Might as well. Don't want anyone noticing you look funny._

Malfoy couldn't exactly argue with that logic, so he stood in line, fidgeting a bit as "Abbott, Hannah" was Sorted into Hufflepuff, "Granger, Hermione" was Sorted into Ravenclaw, "Longbottom, Neville" was Sorted into Gryffindor...

Until finally, "Malfoy, Draco!" Pretending a confidence he did not feel, Malfoy sauntered up to the stool, perching on it and reluctantly putting the Sorting Hat on his head. Merlin only knew where the bedraggled thing had been.

_"Ah, yes, young Master Malfoy,_" an unfamiliar voice spoke in his head and it was only years of rigorous conditioning that kept Malfoy from shouting or flinging the wretched thing off.

_"You can talk?_" he demanded, and a chuckle echoed through his skull.

"_Of course I can, I'm the Sorting Hat, aren't I?_" the Hat snorted. "_You heard me sing. What's a little talking in here, in your head?_" ...Well, when he put it that way.

"_Now where to put you,"_ the Hat contemplated. "_You've certainly got a love of learning. Ravenclaw would suit you well in that regard. And a fierce loyalty-Hufflepuff's got more than their fair share of hard workers. And considering the life you've led until now,"_ the Hat's voice was tinged with so much sadness and regret, Malfoy felt acutely uncomfortable. _"You're certainly brave enough for Gryffindor..."_

_"Not Gryffindor,"_ Malfoy hissed. The rest of the Great Hall was starting to murmur, surprised it was taking so long for Slytherin's poster child himself to be Sorted. Even Crabbe and Goyle had made it straight in.

"_I fear you are making a grave mistake,_" the Hat murmured. "_But as you wish. Better be..._SLYTHERIN!" The shout rang out loud enough for everyone to hear and relief made Malfoy's body sag for just a moment before he strutted over to the Slytherin table, a smirk pinned in place.

It only slipped when "Potter, Harry" was Sorted into Slytherin a few minutes later.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Notes: Same general warnings apply. Especially warning for self harm._

Harry Potter sat down next to Malfoy, looking as shocked as he felt. The _Golden Boy_? In _Slytherin_? It was enough of a surprise to let Malfoy relinquish fronting to Draco, who ended up pushing half his potatoes round his plate and barely listening to the conversations bubbling up around him. It wasn't until midway through dinner that he realised Harry was trying to get his attention.

"Pardon?" he asked, struggling to sound polite. Harry flushed a little, his fingers clutching awkwardly around his fork.

"You said your name was Draco, right?" Harry questioned.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "Draco Malfoy. I thought we already established this," he added with a slight rise of one eyebrow. Harry's flush deepened.

"Well, yeah, but since we're in the same House now and all..." Harry trailed off, but Draco got the meaning, particularly with the glares Ron Weasley was still shooting across the Great Hall. The Weasley had been Sorted into Gryffindor and seemed to take it as a personal affront that Harry was a "slimy snake."

"It's actually the best House, really," Draco offered, pride seeping into his tone. "Ambition's looked down upon by those lot," he gestured with scorn at the other Houses, "and yet what would the Ministry do without ambition? Rot. It takes cunning and ambition to get anywhere in this world, so we've already got a foot out ahead of the rest."

"Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy," one of the older boys said snidely down the table. "You've only got ahead of the rest because your dad's loaded." Muffled snickers rang out from the boy's cronies, making Draco's ears burn red.

"Not my fault your parents wouldn't know what to do with a Galleon if it fell out of the sky on their heads," Draco murmured. "As you can see, Potter, it's all too easy to fall in with the wrong sort."

"Wouldn't want that," Harry scrunched his nose up and grinned, and Draco found himself smiling back. He hadn't thought that he would like the Boy Who Lived. Then again, who could have predicted he'd end up in Slytherin?

After dinner and the Headmaster's very odd speech (Draco found himself more than a bit curious about the third floor corridor and what could possibly be down there), they trooped down to Slytherin House's dormitories. They were in the dungeons, which Draco had already known, but still found himself surprised when the prefect faced a blank stretch of stone wall and murmured the password.

"Salazar," she reminded everyone as the first years filed past. Professor Snape was already inside, waiting.

"Welcome to Slytherin House," his godfather's smooth, icy tones filled the common room without effort. "While you are in these walls, your House is your family. Even moreso due to others' blind prejudices." Severus's mouth twisted with contempt, and Draco scooted down a little in his seat. Beside him, Harry couldn't stop looking at the carpet. "Outside of these walls, we present a united front. No fights, no bullying, especially not where others can see. You are to lift each other up, not bring one another down. The world will do enough of that.

"I expect you to follow all of Hogwarts's rules, and all of Slytherin House's rules as well," Professor Snape continued. "They are posted in the common room right there, and in each year's dormitory. Ignorance of them is no excuse. If there are rules you do not understand, you will come and see me or one of the prefects about it at once, and we will endeavour to illuminate it to you. If you receive a detention or a loss of points from any other professor, expect to serve an additional detention with me."

A low clamour arose at that remark, but nothing distinct enough for Severus to properly hear (and punish, Draco imagined).

"All first years will also spend time each week meeting with me. Second years and above will meet with me every month, unless you are one of my NEWT students, in which case, you will be spending time in the Potions laboratory every Saturday. And as always, all of you will be expected to see Madam Pomfrey by the end of the week for a thorough medical exam."

Draco felt his dinner sour in his stomach. Lucius and the...others were _careful_ in their attentions, but there was a reason Draco only went through Lucius's paid Mediwitch. Some things you couldn't hide. Sneaking a covert peek around, he noticed other such quick flickers of dismay before his classmates schooled their expressions. Even, he was startled to note, from Potter himself.

"These medical exams are mandatory, and there is no way to get out of them," Snape stressed. Draco felt like the man must surely be looking right at him. Surely Severus _knew_? Or at least _suspected_? It was necessary, of course, to get their Lord back, even he knew that much (although he certainly didn't know any of the whys and wherefores or what exactly the rest of his system did while he was asleep inside, but he didn't want to know, not really), but that didn't mean the rest of the world would understand. Father was particularly strict on that point. Others could not know. But if Severus had an inkling, then he must know a way to remove Draco from the mandatory exam. Of course he would.

_Unless he doesn't know,_ someone whispered, and chills trailed down Draco's spine at the insinuations.

Their Head of House went on with other instructions for abiding in the House of Slytherin, but Draco couldn't pay attention anymore. He barely noticed when they were dismissed and he was to trudge up to bed with the other first year boys. Boys on the left, girls on the right, special accommodations for gender-variant students (whatever that meant, Draco was too muddled to notice) in the middle back. He secured a bed in the back, next to Theo Nott and Harry Potter, who'd ended up straight next to the wall, lucky sod.

He thought he'd spend ages trying to sleep, so it was a welcome relief when no sooner did his head touch the pillow, than he slipped away to dreamland.

Of course, that didn't necessarily mean _everyone_ was asleep.

Three hours after curfew, Luce's eyes snapped open. He retrieved the body's wand and wove several rather complex charms and wards around the bed. This one to keep anyone from noticing Draco wasn't in bed, that one to ensure the monitoring charm didn't go off...it was complicated, but that's what he lived for best. In no time at all, his precautions were complete and he was free to disillusion himself and move through the castle at will.

Of course, there was one place in particular he planned on going...

Lucius had told him that it used to be an old study of Salazar Slytherin's himself before the Dark Lord took it over. The only way to get in was with the password, and the password was sealed in blood. And that was if you knew where to get in anyway, because it was hidden behind a painting in an out-of-the-way corridor, down an abandoned part of the dungeons. Wanted his privacy, had Salazar, and now, so did Luce. His stride was quick, yet fluid, as he passed right by the caretaker and his own Head of House having a quiet chat. Not many students out of bed first day back, Filch had observed, and Luce couldn't help but smirk. Then again, he wasn't precisely a student, for all he was stuck inside the scrawny body of an eleven-year-old.

"_Veritas_," he whispered, as he sliced his palm open on the peculiarly sharp corner of the painting's frame. The woman in it, a very pale-looking redhead with piercing golden eyes and green scales covering most of her body, looked at him, then grinned, revealing pointed teeth.

"Welcome," she murmured as the painting swung forward. Luce scrambled into the narrow corridor it had revealed, hurrying for the painting had a very narrow window of time it liked to remain open. It was shrouded in dust and choked with cobwebs, causing him to grimace in disgust as he drew his wand and blasted the worst of it out of the way. Like his illustrious...progenitor, he preferred things tidy.

The study was in similar condition, although it was clear preserving spells had been used. A Muggle's head sat frozen and silently screaming on a bookcase. Luce noted with interest that the eyes were still moving, dark droplets of blood still pooling at the severed base. Either the Dark Lord was incredibly good at preserving realism or somehow, the Muggle was still alive. He couldn't bet too much on either possibility, so dismissed it for the time being. It wasn't important right now.

The slim book kept in the left side of the desk, however, was, and Luce stared at it with rapt fascination, tracing the faded gilt letters with shaking fingers.

_Darke Arts of the Wicked Kynde_ trailed down the spine and across the cover. It was exactly where Lucius had said it would be. He couldn't read it now, though. He was afraid to take it out of the room even, but Lucius had assured him that it would be fine, there were spells on the book to make it appear harmless to anyone else. _As long as you don't go flashing it to Dumbledore, that is_, Lucius had added, but Luce had no intentions of going anywhere near the doddering old fool. He couldn't stand the man.

"But before I go," Luce murmured, a smile curving his lips. Fishing his wand out of his pocket, he hiked one leg of his pyjama bottoms up to the thigh and aimed the tip at the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath. _Silence _slashed across the body's calf, blood spilling out in red freshets. He bathed in the sting of the pain for a delicious moment before he murmured a low-level healing spell and felt it heal to a ragged, scabbed-over scar. There. No one could argue with that. A simple warning, and Merlin knew, this system needed their fair share of _those_.

With a lighter heart, Luce slipped out of the study and back into his dormitory, easing his way into bed before anyone else woke up. They still had enough time to get a decent night's rest before breakfast and the start of classes, and he intended to take full advantage of that fact. The book lay safely wrapped in a pillowcase at the bottom of their trunk.

He'd have more than enough time to read through it later.


End file.
